Time Out.

After a year-long battle against plantar fasciitis, it seems that the time has come to retreat, at least temporarily. Training through constant pain day in and day out despite valiant ongoing rehab efforts has brought me to a plateau in my progress and sapped my motivation entirely. There’s no joy left in forcing my way through sessions in the pursuit of mediocre results at best. Of course even the most dedicated athletes aren’t totally amped about every workout, but it’s essential to relish the overall journey. If there’s no love in that anymore, is it really worth doing?

These kinds of questions really got me thinking that there must be something more than a few muscular/strength imbalances at play, something deeper. Why would a case of PF last THIS LONG? And why am I so exhausted every single minute of every goddamn day? Why do I feel like a 90-year-old woman when I go up and down the stairs or climb in and out of bed? I’m so exhausted that I don’t have the energy to do anything – training, work, chores, social plans – literally nothing.  Living with a certain level of fatigue is part of being an endurance athlete, so it can be really hard to tell when you’ve crossed the line.

I’ve always thought that I could do anything and everything, all at once. Why choose to be the best at just one thing when you can be the best at all the things? As it turns out, you can only fake it for so long. In high school, I was a straight-A student while running track at a varsity level all four years and crushing extra-curriculars like nobody’s business. Not surprisingly, I also developed an eating disorder along the way. During the transition from high school to college, I realized that I loved running too much to surrender it to something so stupid. I figured out that the more I ate, the more I could run and thus my obsession with endurance sports was born.

After doing a bunch of marathons and random triathlons, I started to train pretty seriously 2011 with the goal of competing professionally someday. I worked hard for a few years while maintaining a full-time job and some semblance of a social life. As a busy, working triathlete, often times it’s the little things that are forgotten. These “little things” – like physical therapy, regular massage, extra sleep, etc. – tend to be the most important for long-term health. By 2015, I had long ignored the warning signs of a nagging knee issue which ultimately resulted in surgery. But even this didn’t slow me down. I used the time to focus on swimming, and I swam every single day (sometimes twice) for 4 months until I could start running and biking again. I came back even stronger and had a few good races in 2015-2016, but I was starting to show signs of breakdown when I developed a bad case of PF at the end of the season. 

Knowing when and how to listen to your body is one of the most important skills that an athlete requires, and yet it one that can be the most difficult to master.  It’s about not letting your emotions and irrational anxiety get in the way of doing the right thing. Sometimes that means forcing yourself to get your ass out of bed and into the pool at the crack of dawn when you really don’t feel like it, but more often it means forcing yourself to slow down and rest when you’re injured, sick, or run-down. As of this post my training log says that I haven’t taken a day completely off from exercising in 2188 consecutive days, but I’ve been training for long before I kept track. I have never truly taken an off-season in the winter, I just keep on going and going Energizer Bunny-style. So, while endurance racing did initially help me to physically recover from an eating disorder, it also prevented me from learning any real coping mechanisms for whatever triggered it in the first place. In essence, I only know how to feel calm, relaxed, and in control when I’m exercising as much as possible. I’m realizing now that this is not a sustainable way to live. 

This is all a very circuitous way of saying that I believe I am struggling with a bit of chronic adrenal fatigue and burnout, and I can’t maintain the stress load that I’ve been carrying for the past decade. This is likely a huge contributor to the constant state of injury as well. I need to take a break and heal. While that sounds easy enough, as a textbook Type A person (as many triathletes are), it can be nearly impossible to just chill the f*ck out every once in a while. A year ago, I moved to a new country, made new friends, basically started a whole new life, and I’ve barely taken a minute to let that soak in. I’ve been head-down on the triathlon path for so long, I can’t remember the last time I took a trip somewhere or did an activity that didn’t revolve around training or racing.  I’ll reference one of the most overused movie quotes from Ferris Bueller here because despite being cliche, it’s relevant: “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” Maybe a fresh outlook on life could help refresh my body too. I’m not giving up completely, I’m just taking time off so I can come back to the sport recharged, healthy, and ready to work. 

Admitting all of this makes me feel like a quitter, a failure, and like I am no one if I’m not a triathlete. I feel like I’m not good enough or strong enough if I can’t do it all. Seeing all my friends racing and training via social media has me suffering extreme FOMO and jealousy over their successes. No one ever shares when things aren’t going well, so I feel very alone in my struggle. A few weeks into this decision, I’m having a hard time functioning without a workout structure or goals. In this early stage of withdrawal, my emotions and anxiety are going completely haywire. Sometimes I’ll cry or have a panic attack for no reason whatsoever. I know that I’m driving everyone around me insane, but I need supportive people in my life now more than ever. I can’t NOT exercise, but I don’t know how much/how little to do. I’m terrified of gaining weight, of getting out of shape. I don’t know how long this recovery period will last or where it will take me, and the unknown is a scary place to be. It feels like I’m walking into a long, dark tunnel and I can’t see through to the light at the end of it just yet. Maybe somebody can lend me a flashlight.

 

Castle Howard Half-Iron

Women’s Podium

 

For my first half of the season, I decided on one in an interesting series out of the UK which hosts races at historical castles. This particular race took place at Castle Howard in North Yorkshire, which was a surprisingly beautiful and quintessentially English locale. After dealing with almost an entire year of persistent injury, the scenic course  was all I had to keep me motivated.

Swim 1.2 miles (31:04) – This was a decent swim for me, despite a somewhat slow start. It was a mass in-water start in a small, calm lake which made it easy for me to find feet. In fact, it was even a bit crowded for the first few buoys until my pack of four got into a groove. We stuck together with a bit of pushing and fighting until the back half of the second lap, when it seemed that a few people were getting a bit tired and caught up in the kraken-like grasp of the lake weed. After being faced with jellyfish in my last few races, I laughed at the thought of a little kelp slowing me down. Unphased, I broke away from the group and came out of the water second.

Bike 56 miles (2:54:24) – My wetsuit was a little sticky since the run to T1 was fairly long so it took longer than usual to get it off. On top of that, one of the volunteers made me go back for my race belt even though no one else was wearing theirs. This meant that I had to run back, remove all the gels from the loops, put my number on, and then run back out. Not my best work, but I still made it onto my bike in one piece. Once I got to riding, I thoroughly enjoyed the course. The hilly, winding roads went through woods and small villages, and across rolling green fields filled with wandering sheep. Towards the end of the first  lap I could see another woman in front of me so I locked on and kept her in sight for as long as I could. On the second lap, all the Olympic Distance athletes were on the course, and in the mayhem of dodging and weaving through slower riders and confused cars, I lost the carrot I’d been chasing. A little discouraged, I focused on my watts and rode a solid 190 for the whole thing. All in all, despite the bumpy road surface and left side riding, managed not to get any flat tires or ride head-on into any cars. Win!

Run 13.1 (1:34:22) – For the past year, I have barely run 25 miles per week due to my nagging PF so I was only hoping to survive the run. Luckily for me, the entire run was on trails so there was no pavement-pounding required. It was two loops around the lake and castle grounds, which was scenic and never boring. The only negative aspect was the fact that the trails were very hilly, muddy, and technical/rocky so it meant a fast split was not entirely possible. As I made my way through the second lap, I assumed an explosion of foot pain was imminent but it never materialized. In fact, I actually felt good throughout the entirety of the race which meant I was able to focus on enjoying the course and pushing myself. If I had been healthy, I would have gone harder on the run, but I would rather be a few minutes slower without a catastrophic injury then vice versa.

Total 70.3 miles (5:02:50) – My slowest overall time in years, but not necessarily a bad race as the course was pretty tough. I finished third and had minimal to no foot pain, which was the real victory. I’m not sure if/when I will race next, but it feels good to have at least completed one half-iron distance race this season with no major hiccups.

Post-race re-fuel

Würzburg Triathlon

After a winter of persistent injury and lack of motivation, I decided to bust the rust and take my chances at a local Olympic-distance race here in Würzburg this weekend. Going in, I wasn’t entirely confident given that I can barely do any running without my foot hurting and my workouts have been less than stellar lately. Top that off with a non-wetsuit swim and the fact that Olympic is by far my weakest distance and I was not exactly feeling amped. Luckily, the convenience factor meant that it was a pretty low-stress pre-race routine, which is always a good way to start the day.

 

Out of the water like “whoa”

Swim 1.5K (26:33) – The swim was 2.5 loops of the Erlabrunner Badesee, a small man-made lake about 10 minutes from the city. The entrance to the pond was small, which meant that a good position amidst the mass-start was key. Despite realizing this, I didn’t get out well and ended up getting punched and jostled quite a bit in the first few hundred meters. But like the Salmon of Capistrano, we swam on. The positive takeaway is that I was successfully able to execute the “swim-over” move without breaking my stroke.  You know, the one where you need to pass someone who is swimming next to you by pushing on their back and swimming over the top of them. It helps you get out of the sticky situation created by a person swimming slightly slower and also pushing you away from where you’re trying to go. Oh, and the other positive takeaway? NO JELLYFISH, FTW. After that, I basically red-lined for the first length of the pond until I felt like I couldn’t hold that pace much longer. The crowd thinned out at about the 1-lap mark and I was able to get into a rhythm (if you can really call my swimming “rhythmic”).  It’s not clear if the swim course was accurate or if the transition times were included in the swim split or the bike split, so I’m not sure how fast I swam. By some miracle I was second out of the water, so it wasn’t as embarrassing as I was expecting.

Cyclocross on a TT Bike

Bike 38K (1:12:23) – A rust-buster race is good for exactly that reason – remembering how to race since you’re usually a little “rusty” after the off season. Coming into transition I was a hot mess – went the wrong way, couldn’t get my helmet on, slipped trying to mount the bike, etc (cue zany music...).  I swear I’ve done a race before. Eventually I started riding my bike and went out as hard as I could. In the first few minutes I passed the woman who beat me out of the water, but was soon passed by the eventual winner. I tried to hang onto her for a bit but she slowly rode away. My power meter was not working so I was riding blind, but I think this was actually a good thing. If I had known the numbers, I might have been nervous and backed off but this way I was able to ride to the point of almost blowing up without actually doing so. The course had a moderate amount of climbing and a low-level tornado amount of wind so I was a bit shaky on some of the gusty descents.  Particularly when I rode straight into a bee at 40 mph and wound up with a fat lip for about 10 miles. I’m not sure what it is about biking and bees but somehow this seems to happen to me more often than most. In the end, I finished in one piece and that’s what counts.

Run 10K (39:19) – Again, it’s not clear if the transitions were included in the run or bike time so I’m not sure about this split. I was extremely nervous about how my foot would feel running fast off the bike since bricks have been very uncomfortable lately. Also, Olympic distance pace is not second-nature to me since I very rarely do them, so I flipped between sprint and half pace until I got the hang of it. It was a two-lap run on the bike path which made it easy to break up into pieces. Running through the finish area after the first lap was a good pick-me-up since I got hear my name and number announced over the loudspeaker in German, which makes everything sound way more bad-ass and extreme (“Pfalzgraf, nummer Dreihundertfünfzehn!” > “Pfalzgraf, number three-fifteen!”). Feeling pumped, I did some sweet elbow-jab maneuvering through some slow-moving dudes ahead of me and continued to the second lap. As I clicked off the kilometers I anxiously awaited the arrival of unbearable foot pain, but fortunately it never came. Towards the end, I got that burning sensation in the balls of the feet that happens when I tie my shoes too tight but it was nothing debilitating. With about a mile and a half to go, I could see the lead woman with the pace bike coming back the other direction and I realized I wouldn’t be able to catch up. That was a little sad, but at the same time cool to know that I was still relatively close to someone so legit. It was hot and sunny so at this point I felt pretty dehydrated but I kept it steady to the end and finished with no major f*ck-ups, mishaps, or failures which is a victory in itself.

Token Podium Pic

Total (2:18:15) – While there was not enough water at the finish line, there was an abundance of alcohol-free beer which is an unsurprisingly next-level German hydration strategy. After chugging approximately 27 tiny, dentist’s-office-sized cups of warm water, I was finally re-hydrated enough to relax and enjoy the aftermath of a not-too-shabby season opener. Racing is always a humbling experience, which makes me I realize how much I still have to work on, but it is always rewarding to make it to the finish line after putting out a solid effort. I came away with second place, which I’m happy about  considering everything leading up to it. I’m hoping that my foot will someday get better, but it’s nice to know that it can hold up through a race.

Post Race Refuel #meatwatts

Alp Attack

Over the past few months, I’ve been struggling with injury and lack of motivation. A persistent case of plantar fasciitis has plagued me since early last fall. Not to mention, moving to another country has been more of a mental and physical adjustment than I had initially anticipated. Trying to train and compete at a high level while maintaining a full time job is difficult, and made even more so when it feels as if your entire support network has been yanked out from under you.  I haven’t felt the urge to race at all lately. I needed something to make training stop feeling like such a chore, and start being fun again.

So, for the first stop on my “Make Training Great Again” campaign, I drove down to Switzerland and crushed some Alpine passes with Jakob.  And by “crushed” of course I mean “successfully made it to the top without stopping or falling over”, which is actually a bigger accomplishment than it might seem. Pro Tip: If you like riding your bike in the mountains, you have not truly lived until you’ve ridden in the Alps, so MAKE IT HAPPEN. Anyway, for perspective here are some of the climbs I’ve done in the US:

Mount Greylock, Massachusetts – 9.1 miles, 5.7%, 2,860 feet, ~1 hour sustained climb

Hatcher Pass, Alaska – 10 mi., 5%, 2500 ft., ~1 hour sustained climb

Kancamagus Pass, New Hampshire – 5 mi., 5%, 1437 ft., ~30 minute sustained climb

Now, here are some numbers from last weekend:

Sustenpass (E-W): 9.1 mi., 7%, 3432 ft., ~70 minute sustained climb

Grimselpass (N-S): 16.5 mi., 6%, 4963 ft., ~2 hour sustained climb

Furkapass (W-E): 6.3 mi., 6%, 2134 ft., ~50 minute sustained climb

Furkapass (E-W): 8 mi., 7%, 2932 ft., ~1 hour sustained climb

Nufenenpass (NW-SE): 8 mi, 9%, 3634 ft., ~90 minute sustained climb

Gotthardpass (S-N): 7.3 mi., 8%, 2938 ft., ~70 min sustained climb (ALL COBBLESTONE)

I always thought I was pretty good at climbing, but maybe that’s because I was never really climbing before. Banging out a quick Kancman loop is child’s play compared to riding over even one of these passes (let alone all 6 in one weekend).  I have a whole new appreciation for the riders in the Tour now. If I had known about how hard this was beforehand, I might have panicked, but unexpected challenges are sometimes a good thing. It’s amazing what you can do when you really have no other choice. Like being halfway up a 75-minute cobblestone climb and knowing that you can NOT stop or you will never be able to start again. The nice thing is that now I simply laugh in the face of hills that I encounter while riding. All in all, a mini bike training camp in the Alps is just what I needed to top off my training before the race season starts in a couple weeks.  Looking forward to seeing some gains on the bike course!

Top of Sustenpass – one done, six to go!

Halfway up Grimselpass

View of Grimselpass

Top of Furkapass – Day 1

#notscenic

Gotthard Pass – Cobbles on Cobbles on Cobbles

And we still had time for selfies!

 

 

 

Challenge Peguera-Mallorca

After my last race in Ruegen, I started having some foot/Achilles pain which has blossomed into full-blown plantar fasciitis over the past few weeks.  I always struggle with motivation coming into my last race of the season, but being injured takes that struggle to a new level.  When I woke up last Saturday morning before my long ride, my foot was in so much pain that I laid in bed and cried for a half hour before getting on my bike.  My brain was teeming with negative thoughts about quitting triathlon, moving home, being too fat/unfit, the works. It should be noted that I fall into this funk every October like clockwork, but in the moment it always feels like an all-time low. I tried to remember that even if I had the world’s worst race, going to Mallorca on the cheap was an opportunity that I may not get again.  So I dragged myself to the airport and set off on my solo Spanish sporting adventure. 

The swim course on a calmer day…

Swim 1.2 miles (34:22) – As the pro women stood on the beach looking out at the buoys bobbing up and down over the huge swells, I couldn’t help but laugh. Especially as the volunteers explained three very different variations of the swim course so none of us had any idea which way to swim.  The gun went off and we splashed into the surf like a bunch of kids playing in the ocean for the first time. Once we made it past the breakers and actually started swimming, I felt surprisingly good. So good in fact, that I was swimming WITH THE PACK (yes, you are reading that correctly) for about the first half of the swim. Suddenly, I felt a searing pain in my right ankle – the kind of pain that makes you see a flash of light and brings tears to your eyes. It felt like my skin was being branded while simultaneously being electrocuted from inside my bones. I pulled up for air and looked down to see a massive jellyfish wrapped around my ankle. Kicking and splashing like a maniac I finally got it unraveled, but by then I had lost the pack. I desperately chased after them,  but they looked like a bunch of ping pong balls floating away over the waves. Swimming is already hard enough for me, can I catch a break here people?? Anyway,  I figured it would be similar to a bee sting in that you feel pain initially, but it quickly fades.  It was not like that.  The pain continued at the same level as when the little sucker first wrapped me in his fiery tentacles for the next FOUR HOURS.  I kept checking to make sure there weren’t any leftover stingers still stuck to my leg since the pain just wouldn’t quit. I channeled my inner Dory the Fish and just kept swimming. Then, after being misdirected by a volunteer and thrashed around like driftwood in the surf, I finally landed back on the beach. I nervously glanced down and saw the swollen, purple monstrosity that had taken the place of my right ankle and trotted into T1, telling myself it was no big deal. 

24 hours later, I’m left with minimal swelling, some redness, and one welt.  

Bike 56 miles (2:51) – I tried not to freak out, but as soon as I started pedaling I was feeling really woozy. Like zig-zagging back and forth across the road woozy. My right leg was on fire from my knee to my toes and I felt chills all over my skin.  Was this all from the jellyfish sting?  At this point, I reminded myself that climbing was coming (yay!) so I should just enjoy it and try to finish, no matter how long it took. The bike course was hilly and technical so it was very slow, but it was not boring even for a second.  The views were amazing and I really enjoyed every minute of the ride. There were sweet switchbacks on the first climb, a cool, twisty descent through this section called “the fridge”, and lots of narrow TDF-style roads and roundabouts.  I loved it so much I even went out and rode it again the next day! Despite the fact that I spent 20 minutes calibrating linking my power meter in transition before the race, the damn thing didn’t work when I started the bike.  In hindsight, that was probably a good thing because I was so distracted and dizzy that I probably rode terrible watts anyhow. For most of the bike, my goals were downgraded to: 1.) Don’t crash, 2.) Don’t pass out, and 3.) Just finish.  I took it one climb at a time and eventually achieved all three.

Descent from El Capdella to Calvia

Run 13.1 miles (1:26) – Between the awesome bike course and the ridiculous amount of pain from the jellyfish sting, I had completely forgotten all about my plantar fasciitis and started the run at a good clip.  Four hilly, hot laps through the cobbled streets of Peguera quickly jogged my memory, however.  I was also still feeling very dizzy and faint, but the burning was starting to die down a little bit.  I cruised around town feeling pretty discouraged until suddenly I came up on another pro woman and passed her. Knowing that now I was definitively not last, I no longer had the option to quit. Another lap later, I caught up to a girl I knew had had a tough day on the bike (two flats) but seemed to be running well.  At this point, I could feel my foot aching a little bit but it was still being drowned out by the stinging of my ankle. Starting the third lap, the corners of my eyes were going black and I was seeing spots, but I knew that I could just keep moving forward for another 10K. I don’t think it was a nutrition issue, since I had executed my fueling as planned (maybe it was more of a marine invertebrate induced issue?). Regardless, I crushed Coke like there was no tomorrow and doused myself in every bottle of water I could get my hands on. “Don’t stop, don’t faint” I kept telling myself with each step. Somehow, I eventually found my way into the finishing chute where I promptly collapsed onto a volunteer and was carted off to the med tent.  Fade to black (literally). 

Total 70.3 miles (4:56:37) – All things considered, it is an absolute miracle that I even finished the race. On top of that, I didn’t come in last (13/17) and no age-groupers beat me (phew!). I already accomplished my goal this season of re-qualifying for my elite license, so I didn’t have much riding on this race anyway. Some days, life throws you curveballs and this was just one of those days. And with that, 2016 is a wrap. Let the off-season begin! 

Epilogue: The day after the race, I met a guy in the bike shop who had been stung ON THE NECK by a similar jellyfish during the race. For him it was so bad that his neck became too swollen for him to breathe, and he had to drop out. His neck looked like someone had attempted to strangle him with rope.  He also said that he felt the same kind of chills and dizziness that I had experienced during the race. We agreed that getting stung on the neck was indeed much worse than the ankle, but he was very surprised to hear that I had finished based on how much he suffered. Maybe I’m not such a baby after all?

Ironman 70.3 Ruegen

 

When I arrived in the town of Binz on Friday evening after driving across the entirety of Germany I felt exhausted, stressed, and like racing was the last thing in the world I wanted to do.  I forced myself to do a quick shakeout on my bike which cheered me up slightly.  Ruegen is beautiful, the roads are pristine, and the air is crisp, cool and refreshing.  So, I figured that at worst, it would be an enjoyable workout in an enjoyable setting.

Aforementioned enjoyable setting

On Saturday morning, I went to my very first pro race-briefing and I may have been even more nervous for that than I was for the race itself.  Being in the same room with all the other pros who I automatically assumed were light-years better than me made my knees weak and my palms sweaty (moms spaghetti?).

At least my bike looks #pro

Race morning arrived, and it was an absolutely picture-perfect day.  The sun was shining, it was cool and breezy, and the ocean was calm.  The conditions were ideal for racing, but I was just not that into it.  I honestly felt like I just wanted to crawl back into bed.  As I suited up and walked down to the water, it felt surreal.  I heard the announcer say “Pro Women to the swim start!” and it took a minute before I realized that included me.  I felt more nervous than I ever have before a race, and my confidence level was almost at zero.  There were media cameras snapping pics every three seconds so I tried to look like I knew what I was doing. Usually, before the race I deal with my nerves by being friendly and making a joke or two to lighten the mood but this group was having none of that. Even though we are competitive, we still do this because we think it’s fun, but I don’t know if these girls remembered that.  Then they called us down and we all lined up on the beach, taking our marks like in a cross country race.

Who, me?

Swim (1.2 miles) 32:58 – When the gun went off we sprinted into the water and started swimming like maniacs.  I didn’t think my first pro swim start would be all that different from other swim starts but boy, was I mistaken.  I swam as hard as I could and latched onto some feet, but unfortunately those feet belonged to the only woman who swam slower than I did.  After a minute or two I realized this and moved out in front of her, but by that time the rest of the group was gone.  I could see them, but I wasn’t going to catch up.  So I just enjoyed having clean water and did my own thing.  This would have been like any other swim except for one minor detail – the presence of literally thousands of jellyfish (Laura, what is going on with the jellyfish situation in Europe, AMIRITE??).  At first, there were just a few here and there, but as I swam further away from shore they increased in both size and in quantity.  At about the halfway mark, it felt like I was swimming through a tub full of chunky Jell-o instead of water.  I had to keep talking myself down so as not to completely lose it.  Eventually they were about the size of softballs and I just couldn’t take it anymore.  When I turned my head and opened my mouth to breathe, I basically licked one and that was all I could handle.  I flipped onto my back for a few strokes so I could keep moving even while panicking.  I knew that no matter what I could NOT let something this stupid affect my race, so I gritted my teeth and swam on.  I passed two men from the pro wave ahead of us and wondered if they were so far behind because of similar jellyfish-induced panic.  When I finally hit the beach, I stood up and got an aggressive cramp in my hamstring, likely due to the fact that I was tensing all my muscles throughout the entire swim.  Everyone saw it happen, so it was super-embarrassing of course, but I’m used to being a clumsy spaz so I shook it off and kept going.  After what seemed like a mile of wetsuit-clad running through downtown, I finally reached my bike waiting for me in transition.

I wish I liked jellyfish as much as SpongeBob

Bike (56 miles) 2:32:44 – I hopped on and started riding as hard as possible to see if I could catch up to any stragglers, but I was definitively alone.  REALLY alone.  The course was closed to traffic, which was lovely, but there were very few spectators and no other racers in sight for the first few miles.   I felt like absolute shit, which also didn’t help. My legs and my back were aching and I just couldn’t get comfortable for some reason.  Soon, some amateur dudes caught up to me and I tried riding with them for a while until I couldn’t anymore.  A little while later, the girl who was behind me in the swim passed me and I thought “well, here you are, DFL”.  I hung onto her for a while, but I just couldn’t find any watts so I eventually got dropped.  At that point, I fell into deep despair.  Like, life-contemplating, self-loathing, utter despair.  I don’t think I’ve ever felt so disappointed, discouraged, and frankly, embarrassed before.  I tried to just enjoy the quiet, shady roads and take the ride 10 miles at a time.  At the end of the first lap, another group of amateur dudes caught up to me and I felt good enough to ride with them for a while.  That boosted me up and gave me something to hang onto through most of the second lap.  Towards the end they all got drafting penalties so I dropped off since I didn’t want to risk getting one myself.  I rolled into transition in last place, trying to sneak out onto the run without anyone noticing me.

Run (13.1 miles) 1:24:31 – Oddly enough, as soon as I started running I felt brand new.  Only one minute away from transition I thought to myself “OMG I F-ING LOVE RUNNING” and from that moment on, I honestly enjoyed every step.  I know it’s weird but I just love running more than life itself, even after swimming and biking. The course was shady with multiple loops/out-and-backs so it was great for checking out the competition.  When I saw the other pro ladies, I assumed they were way ahead but realized that they were on the same lap as me since they only had one green wristband (you got a new colored wristband for each lap – green, yellow, and blue).  Once I realized that I wasn’t too far back, it was game-over for them.  I could see that with each out-and-back I was cutting the distance between myself and the next two girls in half.  Between that, the cheers from the spectators, and passing dudes like they were standing still, my motivation only increased. On the second lap, I could see my two targets ahead of me on the big climb.  I passed them on the steepest part of the hill, right as one of them was passing the other. It was a perfectly-executed double-pass. They both seemed surprised to see me, and I broke into a huge smile as I zoomed down the backside of the hill ahead of them.  On the next part of the loop, I noticed that the girl in fifth was within reach so I gave it everything I had to try and catch her.  I knew I was running well because I made up at least half a kilometer on the other girls within the last 5K.  As I turned towards the finish chute I realized I had run out of real estate, but kicked it in anyway.  I ended up in 6^th place, only 20 seconds out of the money.  I also had the second-fastest run split of the day, only 3 seconds slower than the winner (had I known THAT, I bet I could have kicked it a little harder, but c’est la vie).

That face you make when you’re so close you can taste the money 

Total (70.3 miles) 4:35:13 – Not a PR, but close.  The transitions were extremely long and added minutes to the overall time, but that happens sometimes.  When I came across the finish line, the Ironman guy from the pro meeting said “Well, that wasn’t too bad for only your second pro race!  Congratulations!” and honestly, that made it worth it. The best part is, I finished within 6% of the winner’s time which re-qualifies me to race as a pro for another 3 years.  What a relief! I doubted myself for a bit, but at the end of the day, this result makes me feel like I really DO belong here and I CAN compete with these girls. And that, my friends, is a pretty good feeling.

Post-race recovery on the beach

Deutschland Details

I’ve gone back and forth about writing something since I’ve been here.  The logistical and emotional roller coaster that I’ve been riding has been extreme, albeit expected.  Even when you know that things are going to be hectic, you can’t completely prepare for how you will feel when said hectic things are actually happening.  Learning to take things in stride has never been my forte, and wanting to improve upon this skill is one of the driving factors that influenced my decision to move to another country.  “Rolling with the punches”, “Going with the flow”, “Being flexible”, no matter how you want to phrase it, I suck at it. Type-A personalities like myself are not typically known for their ability to stay relaxed and sit back while things take shape.  Regardless, I’m creating an opportunity to grow by throwing myself into the most stressful situation I can think of and trying to rise to the occasion.

That said, after a few weeks I finally feel like I am crawling out from under the pile of crap that I’ve been stuck under for the past few months.  Since April, I’ve gone through the process of getting my transfer approved and acquiring all appropriate documentation required to obtain a visa.  I packed up my stuff, booked a flight, and made my way here.  I found an apartment, got my residency permit, health insurance, tax stuff, and bank account set up.  I bought a car, got it registered and insured, and took a train to pick it up.  I started learning to speak German (nur ein bisschen).  All I have left to do is get a phone and some internet and then I can finally get on with living a “normal” life here.

Dealing with all of this while also trying to work a full-time job, train for my upcoming race under the watch of a brand new coach, recover from getting sick TWICE and figure out where everything is has not been an easy task.  At first I felt excited, but then a huge wave of homesickness set in. While I love it here and I do have some good friends to hang out with, it’s just not the same.  The reality of leaving my home, my friends and family, my training spots, and American burgers is really starting to sink in.  Big time. It seems crazy to want something so badly and then as soon as you have it, you’re not sure if you really want it anymore. On the flip side, I know that if I went home now I would forever regret not pursuing this. Now is the time to explore and not settle for living inside the friendly familiarity of my own comfort zone. Doing new things is scary, but it’s always worthwhile because no matter what, you’ll end up learning something about yourself. At least that’s what I’m trying to remember. Right now though, it seems like even this lone wolf is starting to feel a little, well, lonely.

On the plus side, I’ve already done a bunch of cool things.  I’ve had a lot of great food, beer, and wine, done some sightseeing, explored new roads for biking and trails for running, and even made some friends. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before I start to feel truly “at home”.  Here are some pictures of my adventures so far:

 

One Black Swan

My Hood

Me & My New Whip

Now that I’m feeling mostly settled, it’s time for me to look towards my next race on 9/11.  I’ll be racing 70.3 Ruegen along with a bunch of ridiculously fast German pros, so my goal is to just try really f-ing hard and not come in last. This time, there will (hopefully) be a swim which will eliminate the risk of running another accidental 5K PR at the start.  I’ve obviously been under quite a bit of stress, which has definitely impacted my training.  Thus, I am not feeling as “ready” as I think I should be. But really, am I ever feeling ready to race with the big kids?? Chronic Imposter Syndrome aside, I’ll try to keep my eyes on the target and give it my all.  At best, maybe I can redeem myself and feel good about the result.  At worst, I will expend all of my pent up energy on the race course and then drink away my troubles on beach afterward.  Either way, it’s a win.

For now, it’s time to focus on the positives, HTFU, and keep moving forward.  Oh, and driving around in my shiny new BMW doesn’t hurt either. #likeaboss #YOLO

Auf Wiedersehen, America!

I haven’t been making this very public, but I think it’s time to put it out there:  I’m moving to Germany.  I’ve been sitting on this for a while because I didn’t know if or when it would really happen.  And you never want to count your chickens before they’re hatched, as they say.

My new city

The first time I visited back in December, I thought “Wow, this would be such a cool place to live!” and looked forward to the prospect of another work trip.  Then I went over again in March and fell completely in love with it.  My internal dialogue subsequently took a more serious tone: “No, for real, I WANT to live here.” Over the next few months, I realized that I don’t have any reason NOT to move somewhere new and cool if that’s what I want to do.  I’ve been in Boston for almost a decade and I think it’s time for a change.  I want to branch out and try new things before I’m old and full of regret. What better way to do that than packing up and moving to a foreign country where you don’t even know the language?

Not quite like the Charles

So, I went back for a third time and got a chance to test out my lifestyle. It went “swimmingly” (get it?? #dadjokes).  Wuerzburg is a great place to train:  lots of good roads for biking, easy access to pools and lakes for swimming, and tons of trails and bike paths for running.  It’s also only a couple hours away from the Alps, which means I‘ll get to do a lot of weekend trips there for some killer long rides.  I even got a chance to race while I was there, and although it was a totally different scene, I’m pretty excited to do some more races in Europe.  Additionally, our office there is an amazing place to work and the commute is approximately one-tenth as time consuming and stress-inducing as the clusterf*ck that is commuting in Boston.

#casual

Finally, after months of back-and-forth, I signed a contract with my company that starts on September 1.  It’s just for one year, but I’ll have to option to renew for an additional year or two if I’m so inclined.  Or I can bail and come back to the U.S. after just 12 months.  I’ll be moving over there on August 8th to hopefully find a place to live and get everything sorted out.  Until then, I’m going to max out on all my favorite bike routes, eat a lot of lobster and burgers, and see as many of my favorite people as I can.

The adventure begins!

If I can’t find an apartment, I guess there’s always Pfalzgrafenstein…

Challenge Heilbronn 2016

Well, I did it.  I completed my first pro race and I didn’t come in last, so I’ll consider that a win.  It certainly wasn’t pretty and I still have a LONG way to go, but at least I feel like I (almost) belong.  I’ve again confirmed the fact that running is definitely my strength, and that my pain tolerance and mental fortitude is beyond that of most humans.  But that’s about all for the positives.

Super-fancy pro transition area with my name on it!

This race was a valuable learning experience, both in regard racing to at the top level and to racing internationally.  The style of racing in Europe is completely different than in the US. More people absolutely HAMMER the bike and then cash it in on the run.  Even people at the front of the race do this, not just the M40-44 wave like in the U.S. Starting at the front was fun because I actually got to race against other people.  At smaller, local races I’ve done recently, I have just been time-trialing off the front with no real sense of urgency.  I’ve had to push hard to race myself, but it wasn’t required if I only wanted the win. I figured I’d have to take the plunge at some point, so why not do it at the German Long Course Championship? Seemed like a great idea at the time…

Swim 1.2 miles (0:00)– PSYCH! There was no swim.  They turned this race into a duathlon due to poor water quality, so the swim was replaced with a 5k run.

Brief race synopsis for those that don’t want to read further…

Run 5k (16:07) – Oops.  Opening with an accidental 5K PR was definitely a mistake.  When the gun went off I found the fastest women and hung onto their shoulders, thinking that would be a good strategy.  After 1K or so, the pace started to feel a bit quick, which I knew meant it was REALLY quick.  A little pop-up message went off in my head: “Are you sure you want to continue?” and of course, I clicked OK.  I knew I was running a little bit too fast while it was happening, but I didn’t realize just HOW fast until I got to transition.  I felt excited about keeping up with the front group while being followed around by the media motos with video cameras.   At least I got my five minutes of fame on a German triathlon site (worth it?): http://www.tri2b.com/triathlonnews/detail/article/challenge-heilbronn-andi-boecherer-und-laura-philipp-duepieren-die-konkurrenz-7270/

Finishing the bike

Bike 58 miles (3:01:31) – I tried to go easy at the beginning of the ride to recover from the first run, so I stuck to 180 W for a while. Approximately one zillion people passed me on the first lap of the bike:  men, women, pros, age groupers, their grandmas, their great grandmas, etc.  It was pretty discouraging, so I just kept my head down and stuck to my watts.  The course was extremely hilly and the wind was relentless (not Kona-level, but still pretty windy).  However, there were some really cool sections that made it feel like I was riding in a stage of the Tour, so it was a nice distraction.  We climbed up through a vineyard with spectators running alongside the cyclists, descended through winding streets in small towns, and rode through rolling farmland.  Once the novelty of my pro-cycling fantasy started to wear off, the last pro woman passed me and snapped me back to reality.   She wasn’t going TOO fast, so I picked it up and stuck to her like glue.  I didn’t let her out of my sight for the rest of the bike and we rode into transition together.

Painfully smiling in the finishing chute

Run 13.1 miles (1:27:41) – I have never been in such pain at the start of the run before.  It was so daunting to think about having to endure another 90 minutes of pain that I knew would only get worse.  Luckily, the three-lap course made it easy to mentally break it up and focus on just one piece at a time.  My pace felt frustratingly slow and every third step triggered a debilitating cramp in one of my calves.  So, I gave up on trying to run fast and just tried not to stop.   I knew that I had completely wrecked my legs by going out too fast and was now paying the price for my stupidity.    Astoundingly, I was still passing people which gave me just enough motivation to keep going.  Well, that and the energy of the crowds really helped.  As a side-note, Europeans are the BEST at spectating, hands down.  I didn’t even know what anyone was saying and it was still motivating.  When I finally came back into town on the final lap, the pain in my legs was so unbearable, I was fairly certain that both of my femurs were broken and all of my muscles had been torn off (obviously the logical conclusion).  I found my way into the finishing chute, which unfortunately for my poor, cramping legs happened to be setup like the airport security line.  I hobbled through the switchbacks and subsequently collapsed into a sobbing heap.  Probably one of my more embarrassing race finishes aside from Lake Placid 2011, but I don’t think I’ve ever buried myself to that extent before.

#1 Spectator

 

Here are some good things I learned:

1. “Yogging” still gives me a 1:27 run split these days. Imagine how fast I could run if I felt good!
2. New 5k PR!
3. Flawless nutrition execution.
4. I wasn’t last, I actually beat other pro(s).
5. My mind is the strongest asset I have, second to my run.

And some not so good things:

1. Duathlons suck.
2. I went out too hard and I should have known better.
3. Water at European aid stations is sometimes carbonated.
4. I’m not as good at riding my bike as I thought.

All in all, I’d say it was a good experience.  For now, it’s time to recover with lots of beer and schnitzel and look forward to the next one, where maybe I’ll do just a little better.  Auf Wiedersehen!

Celebratory post-race beer

King Pine Sprint Tri

After a few good months of training, it was time to bust some rust with a little season-opener sprint race.  This one is a very low-key race at the King Pine ski resort near Conway, NH, and it was the perfect place to test my fitness and make sure I remembered how to triathlon (used as a verb).

Ready for action

Swim 0.4 mi (9:40) – Since it’s still very early in the season, I’ve only had the chance to do 3 open water swims so far.  Walden is still FREEZING, so I haven’t felt comfortable and fast in the water as my arms have been going numb halfway across the pond.  When my wave started, I tried to sprint to the first buoy and get out ahead of everyone—and it actually worked!  After about 30 seconds, I was out front with only one girl (clearly a beast-mode swimmer) out in front of me.  I had clean water the whole way and kept my turnover high and my kicking non-existent.  I pushed my way past a few people from the back of the Olympic wave as I exited the water and had a pretty quick transition (thanks to gratuitous amounts of body glide).

Bike 12.5 mi (32:39) – The goal here was to try and get close to the watts I’ve been hitting in workouts lately, but that didn’t exactly pan out.  There were a lot of people on a very narrow road, so I wasn’t able to push as hard as I would have been able to if the road was clear.  Dodging and weaving through people who are riding half as fast is not an ideal setup for riding hard.  I passed the girl who led the swim very early on, and then cruised the rest of the way out front.  Even though my watts were low (~210) my time was still fast, which means I did a good job staying aero.  Coming into T2 there were a whole bunch of people on the dismount line so I didn’t get a good flying dismount, but I kept it rubber-side down.

Run 3.4 mi (18:57) –   As I was running out of T2, I heard Brian right behind me so I bolted out of the gate a little too quickly since I didn’t want to get caught.  As usual, after going out hard I got a side stitch and slowed the pace down for a few minutes until it went away.  The run course was rolling, so it was a bit on the slower side.  After the turnaround, I was able to speed up and bring it home for the win.  I averaged ~5:40/mile, which is pretty good considering the hills and the fact that it’s so early in the season.

Look, I’m flying!

In the end, I won by about 7 minutes and had the second-fastest run split (including the men).  I’m feeling a little more confident now about my choice to step it up and race with the big kids in a few weeks.  Shout out to Brian for winning the men’s race while deathly ill, and to Andrew for kicking some ass and taking 5^th in the Olympic race.  A great start to the season!